Doing Right
by KnightFury
Summary: Holmes is forced to make a decision which he has been putting off. If Beth Lestrade still wants to marry him, after such a long wait, of course.
1. Chapter 1

_**Last year, I was preparing for my wedding at this time and as a consequence missed the birthday of one of my dearest Internet friends.**_

 _ **LA, you are a support and inspiration to me. I hope that you enjoy this multipart story, which I submit to make up for last year.**_

 _ **Sincerely yours**_

 _ **KnightFury**_

* * *

As we exit the house belonging to our (until now) most obvious suspects, Beth gives a shudder which – I suspect – has little to do with stepping out into the wet street. "I don't think I've ever been so glad to be outside – even if it is pouring rain, right now. That house stank!"

She is not exaggerating. I myself had been anxious to leave, for the smell within that vile hovel had been enough to make my eyes water and to cause my stomach to turn over. It was putrid. The visit was also fruitless – the Oyston family clearly have nothing to do with the stabbing which took place near their tenement, last night.

"Those poor kids," the inspector shakes her head. "They shouldn't have to live like that. It was freezing in there, too, and they were half-naked."

I sneeze – not that it expels the lingering stench from my nostrils – and open the car door for my partner.

"Thanks," says she, as she gets in. She then waits patiently for me to scramble into the passenger seat and close the door, before speaking again. "You OK?"

I choose to ignore the question. She should know that I am perfectly well. "They were wearing shorts and T-shirts, Beth; not exactly indecent clothing. Impractical, I grant you... Incidentally, did you notice the marks on them?"

"On the clothes, or on the kids? I didn't notice anything – not with all the dirt on 'em. What marks?"

"Bruises, Beth. Some quite old, others very fresh. I am sure that you know the implications."

She nods and starts the car with her usual gusto, sending it leaping into the air. "Yeah, I know the implications, all right. We need to get 'em outta there. Fast."

"Quite so. The sooner the better."

"Well, we can't do anything on our own, much as I want to take 'em with us right now. First step, I guess, is to contact their school, family doctor, get a social worker involved…"

I regard her pensively.

"What?" the Yarder turns to frown at me. "I know that look; what's on your mind?"

I shake my head. "If we are to interfere with the boys' future, I should like to know that it will turn out for the better – that they will be safe, cared for and not divided."

"We don't get a say in what happens to 'em, Sherlock. It doesn't work that way."

Well, it should! "Supposing… How does one go about adopting children, these days?"

She swerves suddenly, almost hitting a lamppost. "You've gotta be kidding me! It's not like taking on your Irregulars for a few hours a week, Sherlock – you'd be responsible for everything: what they eat, what they wear, what they do, whether or not they learn stuff…"

"I do take responsibility for those things, where the young people who make up my team of Irregulars are concerned – I saw that Wiggins, Deirdre and Tennyson went into higher education and found work, did I not?"

"Well… yeah… but this is different. You'd be responsible for 'em all the time – not just when they're with you or working for you. It's hard work. 'Sides, those kids are younger than your Irregulars. I'd say the oldest has to be about six, at the most. The younger one probably isn't even old enough for school, yet. He might not even be properly toilet trained, so that'll be more work for you."

She is right, of course.

"And you work. You can't stay home all day and you can't take a kid to work with you. So, how's that gonna work? What happens when one of 'em gets sick?"

"I was not asking for your opinion on the probability of my making an adequate single parent," I snap, impatiently. "I was asking whether it is possible for me – a single man – to adopt children, whom I know to have had a dreadful start in life."

"I haven't got a clue, but I can find out. Maybe we can discuss this hare-brained idea o' yours over dinner, huh? It's been ages since we went out. What would you like? Greek? Italian? Indian? Chinese?"

"Hum… Thai, I think. I have not had Thai cuisine in an age – Watson prefers Indian to Oriental."

"Thai it is. And this one's on me – you paid last time. Actually, you paid the time before that, too. And I'll choose the restaurant – I know you'll just try to find somewhere cheap, if I'm paying."

I feel my ears turn hot and look away. That she knows me so well that she can be absolutely correct is somewhat discomfiting.

When I pick Lestrade up in my own hovercar, she has obtained books, leaflets and printouts. She gives me the basic facts, while I drive and watch the road.

"Basically, you can't adopt a kid if you aren't married or in a stable, 'living together' relationship," says she. "The kids need stability."

And yet, it is perfectly acceptable, these days, to start a family and to then divorce – or to start a family whilst in an unstable relationship. I frown at the double standards.

"Sherlock, hasn't it occurred to you that maybe it's for the best? I mean, you were saying yourself that you want them to go to a good home…"

"I could give them a good home!"

She huffs. "You can't do all the stuff you'd need to do as a single parent and work. Not the way you like to work. There aren't enough minutes in the day."

"You have already said very similar."

"Yeah. Only now, I've got stuff written by other people, to back me up. I'm not being mean; I'm just telling you why you won't be able to adopt." Her mouth quirks, ever so slightly. "At least, not on your own."

I suspect that I know at what she is getting, but I say nothing. The onboard navigation is telling me that we are nearing our destination, anyhow, so I hand over control to the autopilot and permit the car to park itself (my parking is still my weakest point).

This Thai restaurant is a favourite of mine. The food is delicious, the interior nicely decorated, the lighting subtle, the temperature just right and the prices high enough to ensure that the clientele is select and quiet.

By the light of the candle, which is shining brightly at the centre of the table, I take Lestrade's hand in mine. "My dearest Beth, did you mean to say that you still wish to marry me? You must have come to realise by now that I am as far from an ideal husband as a man can be. I am not at all good at showing affection – I am most certainly nothing like the men in most of the films that you like..."

"Let me stop you right there," says she. "First off, I'm not like those girls, either – apart from Calamity Jane, maybe. I watch movies to escape from reality, not to dream about getting swept off my feet. OK? Zed! Where the zed d'you get your ideas from?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I just know what I am not and feel that you deserve better."

She stares at me angrily. "I've never heard such a load o' zedding crap. What makes you think I want to marry an 'ideal' husband? Besides, don't you know how hard they are to find?"

"Well..."

"Sherlock Holmes, I love you. I loved ya even before I had you brought back to life (not that I knew it then) and I'm sure as zed not gonna give up on ya now. So, yeah, I still wanna marry you, so long as you're still interested."

I nod mutely. Yes, I am still interested. I have lived one lonely existence and I cannot survive another. Besides, I do want to give the Oyston children a good home and, it would appear, we have to be married first. But this is why I want to be certain that this is what my fiancée wants – I cannot say that my reasons for wanting to marry her have ever been borne out of love for her. I do love her, of course, but not really as a fiancé should; not romantically and certainly not physically. At least, I don't think so. I think that I must become confused by the chemicals in this rejuvenated body, sometimes, and then I know not what I want – I fear that I might easily become carried away, then.

"Hey! Are you listening to me? Snap out of it!"

I blink. "Hum? Oh. My apologies. I was lost in thought."

"Huh, yeah, I noticed. You OK?"

I squeeze her hand. "If I am truly the one that you want, shall we select a date and venue?"

Her eyes light up. "You mean it?"

"Of course, I mean it! Beth, I want to spend the rest of my days with you. I just want for you to be sure that this is what you want."

With her violet eyes still dancing, she kisses my cheek. "I love you, too. So, tell me… are you a Christian?"

"Yes, of course," I reply, surprised by the question. "England was a Christian country, in my day, and my school was incredibly religious."

"Yeah, I thought you'd say something like that. So, you probably want to get married in a church, right?"

"I had not really thought about it, but, yes – that would have been the only place to wed, in my day."

She nods. "I thought so – 'specially if you wanna invite Mycroft. Think he'll come?"

I smirk. "Were I to kidnap him in Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis, he would not have very much choice in the matter."

"No. I guess not. What about my ancestors? Are they invited?"

Does she need to ask? "Naturally, my dear! As are your cousins."

"And Jeremy Brett? And David Burke? You do get on OK with 'em, don't you?"

Now. "Jeremy has already invited himself, anyway. You know what he is like. Now... Modern guests. Watson and John, obviously; the Winters family... Emrys Jones... Then there are the Irregulars, of course..."

"You should probably invite the PM and maybe even the king," Beth suggests.

I cringe at the thought and dearly hope that she is joking. "Must I?"

"It'd probably be expected. Don't want to insult your most distinguished clients, do we?"

"The king would no doubt want for the wedding to take place at Westminster Abbey, or somewhere equally ridiculous. That is not for me – I very much doubt that that is what you want, either, if I know you at all."

She chuckles and pats my hand. "You're right. 'Course you are. We'll leave clients out of it altogether."

Very wise.

"Got a church in mind? We'll probably both have to start going regularly, before we can be married there. That's usually the way it works. I need to go find a dress, too – and a good flower shop. You've got it easy – I'll bet you've already got a suit that'll look the part."

I probably have, but still I want to purchase my clothes specially for the occasion – I shall probably opt for a silver-grey suit tinted to complement the colour choice of the flowers and dresses. It will be the finest that I can find, with matching top hat and long tails. A smart cane and gloves to complete my attire is also a must.

We agree to visit as many local churches as possible, over the next few weeks. In the meantime, Beth will decide upon flowers, choose her bridesmaids and select the colour schemes and dresses. I have to ask Watson whether he would be my best man (I only hope that John the Compudroid will not be too put out, but I can hardly ask the both of them).


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing that I do is to call Watson, in order to break the news to him. I have barely heard a whisper from him since he and his wife left for America and I hope that he will be prepared to return with his lovely wife in order to assist.

"Do you have any concept of time, Holmes?" the doctor grumbles, as if I am forever calling him up at odd times.

"Forgive me, my dear Watson, but I have some rather exciting news... How is America?"

He groans and rubs at his temples. "It was perfect, mostly, until Teresa went on maternity leave. I have to work as much as I can, which means that I hardly see her."

"How does a holiday in England sound?"

"Wonderful," he declares, "providing, of course, that it would be a holiday and not turn out to be a case."

I must confess that I am a little hurt. "No, there will be no cases. Beth and I are somewhat busy and trying to keep our working hours to a minimum. I was actually going to ask whether you would be my best man."

My friend looks horrified. Good! "I had no idea! Oh, Holmes, I am so sorry. Of course, I should like very much to be your best man – I would consider it an honour. Um... When is the happy day to be?"

"The first Saturday in June," I inform him cheerfully.

He frowns at me. "That is more than two months away."

"Yes, well, there is a lot of planning, arranging and organising to be done. And I should think that Beth would appreciate assistance from her cousins."

He nods and again rubs at his temples. "I shall have a word with Teresa."

"Please do. I must confess that I should be glad of your advice and... and I might need your support. You have been married twice and... well... this is the first time that I have ever taken a wife."

He frowns at me. "You want me there while you are still making arrangements."

"Well, if you would be so good, Watson... Besides, as time goes on, the flight back to London would be considerably more uncomfortable for your dear wife."

His eyes narrow at me for but a moment. "I shall see what can be done. Good night, Holmes."

And, with that, he is gone. I hope that I have not upset the good doctor, somehow.

As the weeks drag on, I discover that there truly is much to do. I had no idea that weddings required so much planning and I am very glad that John is both able and willing to help. The pastor of our chosen church is also sympathetic and helpful, which is appreciated.

Of course, most of the work has to be done at home and I am always grateful when John will sit down with Beth and I, in order to work between us, as is the case this morning. It is even better when Watson is available to chat on Web camera with us, as he is this morning.

"The first thing, I think, should be to decide upon the colour scheme," my Boswell says. "How else can you decide which flowers you want, or how the church should be decorated?"

"Not pink," is Beth's immediate decision. I could have worked that out for myself – I never dreamed that she would want pink, anyway.

"Mauve?" I suggest. "There are some lovely mauve roses, these days, and perhaps we could include whites and purples – purple lavender, perhaps?"

My fiancée shakes her head with a smirk. "I won't be wearing purple, so you want purple flowers instead," says she, chuckling.

"The colour suits you," I shrug with a flourish of my hands.

"It certainly does," agrees John. "The white trouser suit, with the deep purple touches looks wonderful on you."

She flushes and lowers her eyes to her coffee cup. "Yeah... I've turned a few heads. Even Winters said that it looks good on me."

"He has eyes. You can even make that hideous Yarders' uniform look stylish, so I should say that anything that actually suits you should look better than 'good' on you," I retort.

She grins at me. "Thanks, Sherlock, but I'm no supermodel."

"I should think not, indeed," I snort. "I would never marry you, if you were."

The robot clears his throat (or at least makes the noise). "Are we agreed on the colour scheme?"

I try not to colour with embarrassment. Why am I so easily distracted, of late?

"I think so," says Beth, smirking. "I like purple, anyway."

It does bring out the colour of her eyes beautifully.

"Next, where will we hold the party?" John asks. "There has to be a party! And will the colour scheme remain the same?"

Watson holds up a hand. "Before we worry about that, we need a guest list. Who is invited, Holmes?"

Who indeed?

"Beth's cousins, aunt and uncle... you and John... the Winters family... Jones... the Irregulars – including Deirdre, Tennyson and Wiggins, naturally..."

"Are you recording this, John?"

"Yes, Doctor Watson," he chirps. "The Lestrade family, you and I (obviously) and Mrs. Watson, the Winters family, Jones, the Irregulars."

I nod. "Thank you, John. How gratifying it is that someone is paying attention. Then there is Mycroft, Beth's ancestors, our friends from 1984... Oh! Victor Trevor (the present Victor Trevor). We cannot forget him. Have I forgotten anyone?"

Beth narrows her eyes. "I've got friends from college. I want to invite them."

"Of course! Beth, invite as many people as you want. I realise that I have only mentioned two colleagues from the Yard, but I only usually work with you and do not make friends very easily; I would not be at all surprised if you knew and liked rather more colleagues and wished to invite them."

"Thanks for giving me permission, Sherlock."

"Oh!" I stand to pace, annoyed. "It was not meant as permission! I was only saying—"

She holds up a hand. "I know what you mean – I was just kidding. Come 'n' sit down, huh?"

"I shall make the invitations," offers the robot. "I can do it on the computer – it would be fun. Purple and white?"

I nod and settle into my chair. "Thank you, John. Are you quite sure that you would like to do it?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I enjoy being creative; you know that."

Then how can I refuse?

Of course, I have more to worry about than the wedding itself. Baker Street is not a suitable place to start a family, for a start, but finding a place that would be in London – even with the funds which I have accumulated over the years – is difficult. We need security, anonymity (these are my preferences, anyway) and room for the children which we mean to adopt. I currently have so many ideas that it is almost impossible to know what to look for.

Perhaps I should try to find somewhere close to London, but just outside. I can get more for my money, we can live quietly – away from the threat of the London criminal... It might work...


	3. Chapter 3

I think I shall give Victor Trevor the news in person, rather than sending him an invitation by post. I have lost touch with him, somewhat, what with court appearances and work. Besides, I should like to clear my head.

Having no available time in the foreseeable future, I decide to visit Norfolk in Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis – it is much easier and it means that I can go at any time. Besides, I feel that I need some fresh air and peace. Without a word, I slip inside my time machine and am away, arriving in Norfolk at two o'clock in the afternoon, last Tuesday.

I am pleased to note that my friend's car is standing on his driveway. All well and good – he is at home.

"Mr. Holmes! What an unexpected pleasure," Jeeves the butler-bot greets me. "Please, come through to the lounge and wait for Mr. Trevor there. Would you care for a drink?"

I thank him and request a cup of tea as I take a seat on the settee.

Less than two minutes later, Trevor enters the room. "I didn't hear your car arrive," says he, as he shakes me by the hand. "Or else I'd have greeted you myself. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you," I squeeze his hand and make a quick study of the dear chap. "But how are you? I perceive that you have been unwell recently. I trust that the worst of it has cleared up; I know that summertime colds can be particularly unpleasant."

He raises his eyebrows and takes a moment to check both his appearance and that of the room. "Do I still sound bunged up?"

"Perhaps a little bit," I reply, "though I daresay that I might not have noticed, were it not for the package of pocket handkerchiefs in your breast pocket, which looks as if it is half empty. Your hands are just slightly warmer than they should be, as well."

He nods. "You're right; I've been quite under the weather for the past four days. My own fault for going out without a coat – you know how the weather can turn – but I do feel much better today. Anyway, I'm sure that's not why you're here, unless you've developed psychic powers or found a crystal ball that works; what can I do for you?"

"My visit is strictly pleasure," I am quick to assure him. "Beth Lestrade and I have chosen a time and place for our wedding; will you come?"

He beams at me. "That's wonderful news – of course I'll be there! I'll put the date in my calendar now, so that I can keep it free." He pulls his phone from a trouser pocket. "When is it?"

"The first Saturday in June," I tell him cheerfully. "At ten o'clock. At St. James'."

"I'll be there," he assures me, returning his phone to its home. "Even if I have to make some rearrangements – I wouldn't miss it for the world! But you look troubled; come on through to the garden and we'll talk beside the water."

My friend is profoundly good and kind. We walk together, arm in arm, beside the broad and talk quietly. I realise that I can discuss anything with this dear chap.

"I have given Beth ample opportunity to break off the engagement," I confide, "but I can be so very charming when I so choose – I sometimes think that I am just manipulative – I am not at all sure that she truly knows me, even now."

"But... Tell me, why wouldn't she want you? You're both perfect together – even before you were engaged, I could plainly see how happy you are together."

"Yes; she makes me incredibly happy. But I know not whether I can make her happy, for any length of time. I can be romantic when I put my mind to it..."

Trevor shakes his head. "Ha! You make yourself sound lazy."

"Well... I am... but I think this might be a different matter. Beth is a good friend. I love her, I would not want to lose her... But am I only marrying her because I am afraid to face the alternative a second time? I cannot make Watson marry me..."

"Watson?" he repeats, surprised. "Do you mean you'd rather marry Watson?"

I groan and thrust my head into my hands. "No! No. And yet, if he wanted only companionship, would I? Perhaps. It is not what he would want, regardless. Beth, on the other hand, wants me. She says that not growing old alone is good enough for her; I am not yet convinced."

"I don't really know what to say to that."

I shrug. "You need not say anything; I just had to say my piece. I could hardly tell Watson that I am so selfish that I might have tried to convince him that he should marry me, had it been legal, just because I liked his company. But it is the best way to illustrate this situation with Beth, is it not? I trust her; we work well together... and I do not want to spend a second lifetime alone."

He pats my arm and nods slowly. "You sound quite confused."

"There is a very good reason for that," I retort."

"Do you think you might be bisexual?" Trevor asks. "If you find Beth as attractive as Watson..."

I groan. "I know not what it means."

"Well, it means that you feel the same way about men and women," he explains.

Which I do, I suppose. "But I am not naturally... I find it difficult..."

He touches my arm. "Your difficulties, I think, stem from the era that you've grown up in. You need to stop worrying about what's right and what's wrong – love is never wrong!"

"This era is incredibly liberal."

"Yes," he nods. "Believe me, that's as it should be. What right has anyone got, to tell you whether you should love a woman more than a man – or a man more than a woman, come to that? People should be judged for themselves."

"God might feel somewhat differently."

He breathes a sigh and coughs into his hand. "You really have been taught to think of it as wrong, haven't you? It isn't! It really isn't. How can I make you see that nobody is going to burn in Hell just because of the way that they feel?"

"I have no idea, but why does it matter so much to you? Even if I am in love with two people, I cannot marry both – Watson would never be interested and he is already married, anyway. So Beth Lestrade is the obvious choice for that reason."

He stops and turns to face me, taking both of my hands in his. "I'm not trying to convince you of anything; I just want you to understand your own thoughts and feelings. You said that you might have married Watson, if he wanted only companionship. Now, that sounds to me as if you only want a friend; not a lover."

'Only'! Pshaw! Only a man that makes friends easily would say that.

"Which rather makes me wonder why you want to be married to anyone."

"Friends leave," I retort. "Society says that we should find our perfect match and pair off and so they do. And I am left behind and forgotten, because I am so unsuitable."

He averts his gaze. "I don't know about unsuitable – the Inspector certainly doesn't seem to think so."

"She seems to think that we can make it work. I cannot share her confidence."

"Well, I think she's right, for what it's worth. Physical attraction is a very small part of a relationship."

I squirm at the words. I am not in the habit of speaking of such things.

"Are you physically attracted to her?" he prods.

"I know that she is beautiful. But I suspect that you are talking about something else."

He pats my arm and smiles. "It'll be all right. She probably knows you better than you think, after all this time."

Perhaps.

"Would you like to go back inside? We could play billiards, or watch a film. Perhaps we could go out for dinner, later."

"Would I not be keeping you from your work?"

He grins. "I hardly ever see you; I can make some time. Come on, what would you like to do? We could always sit on the terrace and take tea. I do happen to know that we've got some beautiful, locally grown strawberries in the fridge. I think there are cherries and plums, as well – as long as Jeeves hasn't had the lot made into jams, pies and tarts, of course."

Trevor only prattles on like this when he has missed me. I must confess that I feel rather guilty, now that I realise it.

My friend takes me by the arm once more and guides me to the terrace as if I might lose my way (as if I have not been here countless times before).

The sun-warmed terrace is pleasant and comfortable, with the blooms of late spring jostling for supremacy against those of early summer, while bees visit all with little favouritism. I enjoy the rays, scents and peace which surrounds us gratefully, while Jeeves pours the tea.

"So... I take it that Watson's your best man," says Trevor, as he adds milk and sugar to his tea. "I'd be surprised if he wasn't. But who else are you inviting?"

I squirm in my seat. "Well, there are one or two Yarders, naturally."

"From the present, or your past?" he asks with a grin.

"Both, actually. Lestrade's ancestor and his family are going to be invited, seeing as her own parents cannot attend."

He nods sadly. "A family feud?"

"No; both passed away quite suddenly, when she was but a girl. Her aunt and uncle brought her up in America."

"How sad! But I suppose she's seen more of the world than many young people."

I agree. "She is certainly better travelled than I was, when I was young."

"Are there any other guests from the past invited?" he asks. "And will they need somewhere to stay, if they do come? There's plenty of room here and I'm sure my father wouldn't mind."

"That's very kind of you. My brother would never take your offer – he is much too retiring in his ways – but I wonder if you could accommodate our thespian friends..."

"From the States?" Trevor enquires.

I shake my head with a chuckle. "No; from 1984. Like Mycroft and the Lestrade family, they are going to need somewhere to stay. Of course, you would have to meet them first, to ensure that you can live together."

"1984? Am I likely to have heard of them?"

I shrug. "You may have done. Beth certainly had – it was she who introduced us. Their names are David Burke and Jeremy Brett."

He gapes at me. "Really? Do you know what they're best known for?"

I nod wearily. "Why do you think Beth thought that it would be interesting to introduce us? But we have become good friends."

"When can I meet them?" he asks with excitement.

"Well... usually, I just go and wait for them in one of their dressing rooms, when I have not been invited," I tell him. "Usually with a present of some sort, these days. I enjoy surprising them. Ha ha!"

We purchase a large bottle of champagne (Mr. Brett's favourite) and then we go off together in Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis, arriving at Granada Studios. Mr. Trevor seems to be rather intrigued by the transportation.

"It's quite remarkable, isn't it?" says he. "How does it work?"

"It is powered by solar energy, but aside from that I really cannot say; it was not I that built it. Come along – let us see if we can get in without causing a stir."


	4. Chapter 4

Mr. Brett's dressing room is deserted and all is quiet and still when we enter it. There is not a sound to be heard, which suggests that everyone is hard at work. I get Trevor to leave the bottle on the dressing table and then we both hide behind the screen which stands in the corner (which could be redundant, if anyone happens to glimpse our transport in the car park and mention it to my friends).

Trevor has fallen asleep long before the sound of voices and approaching feet alert me. I rouse my companion and urge him to keep quiet.

He nods and then screws his eyes shut whilst scrabbling in his pocket. "Atchoo!"

The voices outside of the door fall silent.

"Have you invited anyone back here?" Brett's voice whispers.

There is a short pause, which suggests that Burke is shaking his head.

"Did that come from your room or mine, do you think?"

Through one of the hinge spaces, I watch as the doorknob begins to turn, very slowly. "I think it came from in here. Jeremy, wait out here in case someone tries to escape."

"But..."

"Oh, I'll be OK – I've got a gun, remember."

"What? Well, I suppose so. Be careful."

Who on Earth do they expect to wait for them in their dressing rooms? Are they expecting danger?

Burke steps inside and turns on the lights. This done, he very cautiously approaches the dressing table, eyeing the gift that has been left there.

"Is there anyone there?"

Is that not what they say when trying to contact a spirit? Not that I quite know how I know that. I gesture for Trevor to remain quiet and tap the wall behind me once, twice, thrice. Burke jumps and I smirk to myself.

"Oh, David!" whispers Brett, from the doorway.

"Ghosts don't leave champagne, Jeremy," observes Burke in a stage whisper. "Who is it?" he demands to know, much louder. "I... I've got a gun. Come out... please."

Why would an actor carry a weapon? Just what is he expecting?

"Just come out, please, or I'll call security."

I decide to show myself. With hands raised above my head, I step out from behind the screen.

Burke sighs and slips what looks like a revolver into his pocket. "I should've realised that it was you," says he. "You're lucky this thing is just a prop. Jeremy! It's just Holmes."

'Just' Holmes? "Charming. Did you expect someone else?"

"We've had a few things go missing," Brett explains. "Nothing important, but a cornered thief sometimes becomes dangerous, as you know. Besides, there's always the chance that one of your enemies might end up here, trying to track you down. It was Moriarty who created your time machine, wasn't it?"

I shrug my shoulders. "If you want to be like that, I shall take the champagne and go. Come along, Trevor. We shall go and visit Mycroft."

"Wait a minute!" urges Brett. "I didn't mean that it isn't nice to see you – it's always nice to see you. I just don't like it very much when you frighten my friends."

He of all people should be able to understand my impish nature, seeing as he is not so very different. I decide not to quibble, however.

"It's... um... it's good to meet you, Mr. Brett," says Trevor, somewhat hesitantly, as he approaches the actors with an outstretched right hand. "And you too, of course, Mr. Burke. Um. How are you?"

Brett glances at the hand for a brief moment. "Any friend of Holmes'," says he, taking it in order to warmly shake it. "Did I hear Holmes call you Trevor? Are you Victor Trevor?"

"Um, yes. But not the one from his college days. I'm descended from Mr. Holmes' old friend."

"It's funny how old fashions come back 'round, isn't it? Your outfit wouldn't look all that out of place in the Victorian era. Well, apart from the new fabrics, of course."

Mr. Burke chuckles and then proceeds to shake hands with Trevor in turn. "It's nice to meet you."

"And you. I've always liked your Watson."

How glad I am that he has tactfully chosen to avoid mentioning the second Watson, seeing as Mr. Burke might not even know that he is going to leave, just yet.

"Thank you."

My friend turns his attention back to Mr. Brett. "Of course, your performance is incredible," says he, causing the actor to flush slightly. "It's difficult to do a man like Mr. Holmes justice, but you manage very well."

"Thanks. That's... You're very kind."

"That isn't what Holmes said," Burke says, much to my chagrin.

I slam my eyes shut. "I did apologise, if memory serves me. Besides, I did not know you, at the time."

Mr. Brett clears his throat. "Let's not quarrel, David. Holmes, I don't think we've asked you what brings you here. Uh... not that it isn't always a pleasure."

I cannot help but laugh – Mr. Brett is not, by nature, a nervous gentleman, from what I have seen of him. "Well, I am here to invite you to my wedding. If you wish to come."

"Oh!" both men seem unable to say more for a moment and then they each break into big grins.

"Congratulations!" the ever romantic Jeremy Brett beams and shakes me by the hand with vigorous enthusiasm. "How long has it taken you to bite the bullet?"

Too long. "It is all very well for you; you are by nature very affectionate and romantic. I am not."

Trevor decides to interrupt. "I thought I'd offer to put you up, seeing as there's plenty of room at my summer place in Norfolk. You can either stay in the house or aboard my little pleasure boat. That is..."

"That's very kind of you," says Burke.

"You don't even know us," protests Brett.

My companion shrugs his shoulders. "Well, as you said, any friend of Mr. Holmes... Besides, there's plenty of room. Would you like to come back with us? I could show you 'round and then you can decide what you'd like to do."

"Trevor's home is gorgeous," I assure them. "You would be much more comfortable there than at Baker Street. Besides, as much as I should like to find the time for my friends, I am going to be far too busy to be a good host."

"Weddings are a lot of work," agrees Burke.

"Yes," agrees Brett, pensively. He then gazes at me with an impish glitter to his eyes. "So... what's prompted you to get married? I couldn't imagine it's a shotgun wedding."

I stare back at him. "I should think not, indeed! Though... the reason does have to do with children. But let us not talk here – let me tell you all about it in Norfolk, over tea on a terrace. Hum?"

"Wait a minute, then," grumbles Brett. "We'll want our trunks. Is yours packed, David?"

"It always is," Burke replies. "We never know when we might be whisked off on an adventure, these days – I feel more like Doctor Watson every day."

Brett throws his head back in a burst of laughter. "Yes! I know what you mean. Excuse us a moment, darlings – I want to ensure that I've got everything and David has to get his."

It takes Burke only a few minutes to fetch in his trunk, which he has – very wisely – kept packed and close to hand, on a set of wheels. He has also removed his make-up and tossed a coat over his arm.

Brett is checking his trunk, which has also been kept packed and close to hand, in the corner of the room. He is in the process of adding a thick cardigan and a "spare" muffler. This done, he wraps a long, thick muffler about his throat, pulls on a heavy overcoat and thrusts a very warm-looking pair of gloves into the left-hand pocket.

"Jeremy, we are going to Norfolk in the late spring," I tell him with a shake of my head.

He shrugs. "I feel the cold. Besides, I never know how long I'll end up staying – or whether I won't end up somewhere (or somewhen) else, come to that."

Burke agrees and disappears again, in order to retrieve the remainder of his own outdoor clothing.

"I think we should be ready to go, now," says Brett, cheerfully.

I gaze at the size of their travelling cases. "Are you sure you have enough?" I enquire with sarcasm. "Where is the washbasin?"

"I think you might mean the kitchen sink," says Burke.

Brett grins. "You shouldn't copy Beth's expressions if you can't pay enough attention to them in the first place to remember them."

I shrug with my hands, in a flourish. "Well, I remembered the gist of it well enough to be understood. That is good enough. Come on, do! Let us get out of here."

Brett casts a longing glance in the direction of the washrooms, as I drag him away in the opposite direction and out towards the car park.

"Are you all right?" I ask of him.

"To tell the truth, I'm dying to get out of costume," he confides. "I was looking forward to a nice, long, hot shower."

Trevor pats his arm. "You can use mine," says he. "I think Mr. Holmes wants to get you away before you're missed."

I most certainly do. It is not as if the journey will be a long one – it will take us longer to reach Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis than it will to travel in it to Norfolk.


	5. Chapter 5

"I don't think I'll ever get used to travelling about in that thing," Brett remarks as we step out onto the grass to the rear of Trevor's house, quite out of sight.

Burke is busy removing his coat. "What a beautiful day! Quite a change, after Manchester's rain, isn't it? Jeremy?"

"Oh, yes. Very nice!" his friend responds. "Beautiful!"

Trevor touches Brett's arm. "I'll get my butler to show you to the shower room and to have your luggage taken upstairs. Holmes, there's no need for you and David to come with us; why not wait on the terrace? I'll just be a moment."

"Thanks," says Brett, gratefully. "See you later, David."

As they walk away together, arm in arm like old friends, I can easily hear their continued conversation.

"If there's anything else you need, Jeeves will take very good care of you," Trevor says. "Just call or ring for him."

Brett laughs. "You haven't really got a butler called Jeeves, have you? Did his name influence you, when you hired him?"

"He's a robot," Trevor explains. "My grandfather gave him the name."

With that, they are crossing the terrace and entering the house by way of the French windows.

"Well, let us get your bags and take them to the terrace with us," I suggest to Burke. "We had might as well make life a little easier for Trevor's servant bots. My God! What the deuce has Brett packed in here? It must weigh at least ten tonnes!"

Burke laughs. "Jeremy packs sensibly – I probably ought to take a leaf out of his book."

The terrace is as pleasant and warm as it was when Trevor and I left it. Burke and I settle down together and talk about this and that as we watch the pleasure boats, birds and insects.

"How long has it been since we saw you last?" Burke asks, suddenly. "To us, it's only been... two weeks, I think. No, almost three. How long has it been to you?"

"Is it too soon?" I ask him, rather than immediately answering his question. "You can always tell me to come back at a more convenient time; I promise not to be offended. To be honest, it is not always easy to locate you – there have been times when you are either working on location or else working on something entirely different altogether. And so, when I find you in, I tend not to think about how you might feel about my turning up on yet another whim."

"It's always good to see you," Burke assures me, quickly. "I didn't mean that it isn't. I'm just tired, I suppose; you found us at the end of a long day."

I apologise, for that should have occurred to me. "Would you like to sleep?"

"I could show you to the guest rooms," volunteers one of the robots, as they approach. "Would sir care for an afternoon siesta?"

"Where is your robot?" another enquires of me. "Did you bring him with you?"

"No; he is assisting in preparing–"

The robots interrupt with a groan. Apparently, John the Robot is rather popular.

"Never mind John," I retort. "My friend, Mr. Burke, and I have some travelling cases, to be stowed upstairs. Here they are. Thank you."

"I wish Jeremy hadn't gone off to shower," says Burke, once the robots have gone. "I'm looking forward to hearing all about your wedding."

"You are as bad as he is," I retort. "Tell me, does Brett always shower, before going home?"

He nods. "Jeremy likes to... keep himself and his rôles separate, I suppose. He says it's healthier, that way.

How strange! "But why is that?"

"Well, because he does what you do, when you're playing a part. He sort of... becomes one with the character. He says it can be dangerous and I should think he knows about these things better than I do."

I belatedly realise that I am gaping at him and close my mouth. "Beg pardon. I had no idea! I know that he is good, but it never occurred to me... that is quite a talent. There are very few that are able to do that. And, yes, it can be dangerous – it takes a lot of empathy, to be able to stand in the shoes of another like that. To do so for any length of time can be very consuming, as well."

"Yes; I think that's what worries him – the thought that he might end up turning into a character..."

I very much doubt that so warm, kind and passionate a man could easily become like me. We are poles apart!

"...So he washes them off and out."

"How very wise!"

"There's no need for sarcasm, Holmes. I agree with him – it's always better to be safe than sorry."

I shrug my shoulders and lean back in my chair. "It truly is beautiful, here. Listen to the birds! I used to hear birdsong like this in London, but I have not done so since my restoration. It takes me back to bygone times, when there were as many kites in London as there are stray pigeons today."

"Kites?" Burke repeats, as he shrugs off his coat. "Don't the children in London fly kites, in the 22nd Century?"

I chuckle quietly. "Indeed not – most remain shut up indoors and play computer games – but I was referring to the hawk."

"Really? I don't remember seeing any."

I shrug my shoulders and spread my hands. "You probably would have, had I mentioned them – they are not easy to miss: red wings, long, forked tail... I believe that they mostly eat carrion and rubbish. Which would be why they would have been so abundant in the Victorian era, I suppose."

"I wish we could include them in the occasional scene," says he.

I smile at the thought. "It would not look very authentic to anyone who knew nothing about the birds living in Victorian London, I fear. There is also the problem of their speed and reluctance to be still for a single moment. Besides, your team have captured the essence of the city and era admirably."

"Thanks. That's good to know."

"You know, there are hawks to be seen here – marsh harriers. They can often be seen, flying low over the water and rushes; they are quite spectacular."

"I'll remember to look out for them," says he. "I never imagined you to be a bird watcher, you know."

How best to answer that? "I take interest in beautiful things. I enjoy them. Flowers – their scent and colour. Why not birds? Many of them are colourful as any rose and their songs... well... they are just as good to the ear as a scented flower is to the nose. And I do like hawks – they have dash and flamboyance in the way that they fly."

Burke smiles. "When you put it like that, it's very easy to understand your interest in birds."

"I would be lying, were I to tell you that I know the song of one bird from another – or that I really cared – but I do like to hear and see them. Oh! Look at this little chap! This one I do know. Bold little robin, is he not? I believe that Trevor feeds him table scraps, you know."

A plump little robin has hopped onto the table and stands watching us with his bright little eyes, his head to one side and his tail erect. He is a beauty.

Trevor is the first to return with one of his house robots at his heels, carrying a tea tray.

"Jeremy says he won't be long," my friend says as he pours the drinks.

"Splendid," I respond. "But do you not think that perhaps he should remain indoors, after bathing? He truly does feel the cold and I would not want him to become unwell."

Trevor nods. "All right; we'll finish our drinks and take the tray in to the lounge. Jeeves can tell Jeremy where we are. Tell the truth, I'm a bit nippy, myself."

"Yes, you should be kept warm, as well," I note with a shake of my head. "Come along; I shall take the tray."

The sitting room is situated at the front of the house and is therefore warmed by the sun. Out of the breeze, it is a very pleasant temperature. I set down the tea tray upon the coffee table and then take my preferred chair.


	6. Chapter 6

Jeremy enters the sitting room to find us deep in chatter. In the half an hour that we have spent waiting patiently (some of us more so than others) for his return, I have taken to sitting on the back of my chair. I cannot say why I do it; it is simply a habit of mine.

"Mr. Trevor, I think your father's car just pulled into the driveway," he announces, while he takes a biscuit from the tray. "Is there any tea left in the pot? Oh, good."

I have leapt from the back of the chair and am busy ensuring that it shows not the slightest indication of my impertinent behaviour before I have even stopped to think.

"I can't hear a car – or any footsteps on the gravel," notes Trevor.

Brett grins impishly and takes a seat beside Burke on the settee. "It must have been my imagination."

"Oh, Jeremy!" groans his friend, striking his arm. "That wasn't funny."

"Yes, it was," he insists. "I mean, have you ever seen Holmes look so guilty or move so fast? I thought it was very funny!"

I give him one of my very best glares, but I do sit in my chair properly.

"What have I missed?" he now asks.

"Oh, not a lot," I reply with a shrug. "Just the wedding list, the dress code, the honeymoon destination..."

He groans, while Burke tries not to laugh.

"Well, I thought that you would not be interested."

"Then you were wrong," says he. "It's only the event that I always thought could never happen! I always thought that you were too much in love with Watson to even notice anyone else. Platonically, at least."

"Can someone fall in love platonically?" Trevor asks.

Brett shrugs. "I always thought so."

"It makes sense to me," I confess. "I would never have thought of it in that way, but it does work. But I love and trust Beth as I have always loved and trusted Watson – the only difference is that Beth says that she means to remain at my side forever, while Watson has left me for a new wife. The two of them are in America – they had might as well have moved to Mars!"

"Ouch," says Trevor.

Brett nods, his expression pensive and somewhat sad.

I do intend to persuade the Watsons to return to England and remain, but I refrain from saying as much. Even to me, it sounds very selfish.

Burke clears his throat. "Well, I'm sure they'll come back in time for the wedding."

"They have to. Watson is my best man."

"Well," says Trevor, in a tone which is clearly supposed to be cheerful, "there you are, then."

Brett offers me a small smile. "Are you going to tell me about the wedding? How's planning it going?"

"Well... we have a guest list... and a colour scheme... Beth has chosen her bridesmaids... I have contacted the best man..." I run a hand over my face. "At the moment, I have nowhere for us to move into, once we have tied the knot, and that is beginning to worry me."

"Can't you just live at Baker Street, for a while?" Burke asks.

I shake my head. "Every criminal knows my address. It would be no place for a wife to relax, let alone to bring children up."

"Children?" everyone is suddenly staring at me.

Brett fidgets in his seat. "Do you mean you're expecting a child? Together?"

I would hardly be expecting one on my own. "We plan to adopt. Very soon. Which is part of the reason for getting married – that was Beth's suggestion."

They clearly do not understand and so I tell them of the Oyston children, my decision to at least try to adopt them and Beth's offer to assist me.

"But we have to have somewhere suitable," I finish. "I very much doubt that we would be permitted to adopt if we were still living separately, or in a house liable to attract violence. Since my... rejuvenation... I have received explosive devices by post and the house has been set alight on four separate occasions (not counting the incident which took place in the kitchen, once). I daresay that a judge would feel that it was unsuitable."

"What incident in the kitchen?" Brett asks.

I shrug. "Oh, that could have happened to anyone. I put too much yeast in the pizza base which I was making and it set fire to the oven."

"You aren't supposed to put yeast in a pizza," Trevor tells me. "They're supposed to be flat."

Yes, I know that now.

"If I see a house that I think you might be interested in, I'll let you know," he now says, changing the subject. "What sort of thing are you looking for?"

I shrug. "A place big enough for two boys. Not too far from London (I have come to realise that I might have to look further afield than the suburbs of the city)."

"How far is too far?" Burke asks. "You've got a flying car, after all."

"There are still routes and speed limits which must be kept to, within the cities," I retort. "While it is true that I can take shortcuts in the countryside, it cannot be done within London – or any other city, for that matter."

"Then... wouldn't the countryside be better than the city?" Brett asks. "You can still drive in and work from Baker Street, but you could also get from your house to... say... Scotland... much faster if you don't have to get out of a busy city first. Right?"

I nod. "Yet another good reason to look for something outside of London. I shall have to see what I can find."

Perhaps I could travel back in time and search for somewhere by taxi, in order to save myself time. I have wasted far too much time already. But, for now, I plan to enjoy the company of my friends.

"I was going to show you Swallows," says Trevor, standing. "Why don't we go and get some lunch? There's a nice little restaurant and half a dozen country pubs, between here and Beccles – and most of them are on the water, with moorings."

I have not set foot aboard Swallows in years, but she is as well kept as ever. Trevor encourages Brett to take the wheel, assuring him that the controls are straightforward and the speeds low. Indeed, he soon has the knack and is enjoying himself.

"Look at these tiny birds, skimming the water in front of the boat," he calls, suddenly.

"Swallows," says Trevor. "They eat and drink on the wing. They're either catching midges and mosquitoes from the water's surface, or they're taking a slurp."

"Amazing," I murmur, as I watch them.

Trevor grins. "You know, Holmes, you could always move to Norfolk. I'm sure you'd like it. I'm sure the children would, too."

"I am not going to discount it," I reply. All the same, I would not want to bring up a young family so dangerously close to open water.

Dinner is spent in one of Trevor's favourite establishments. We then return to Trevor's home, where we spend a pleasant afternoon.

"Victor," Burke says at last, "the wedding isn't until June. We can't possibly stay with you for months – it wouldn't be right."

Brett agrees. "Supposing Holmes takes us forward in time, a bit? When would be a good time for you?"

Trevor shrugs. "Oh, perhaps a week before. The Saturday before. At about ten o'clock."

Brett nods and embraces him. "See you soon."

Burke follows his example. "Thank you for a lovely afternoon."

The robots return their luggage to Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis and then we use it to leap forward. I only hope that Trevor will not have forgotten and gone out.


	7. Chapter 7

Having dropped off Brett and Burke, I decide to travel back and to begin house hunting two months before Beth and I decided that we should get married. We need a head start.

I climb inside a taxi and set off with no particular plan – just my pocket telephone, with multiple estate agents' websites open on it. Thus my task begins. I decide to head in a North-easterly direction, today. Tomorrow, I shall go East from London, the following day I shall go South-east and so on.

There are so many interesting houses for sale, outside of London! The first is a beautiful thatched cottage, which is old and crooked and looks far too small and yet it boasts two sitting rooms, a spacious kitchen, a beautiful dining room and no less than five bedrooms (all of which are en suite, technically, though the 'cloakrooms' are only small wetrooms – much like the things that I have been forced to use at the coast; they have less space in them than our airing cupboard at Baker Street).

The second house is a modern building. It is all right, but the rooms are tiny. I do look around, but it does not change my mind – I prefer older properties anyway.

After a long, weary day, I drag myself back to the waiting taxi and direct the driver back towards Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis, which has been left with Mrs. Winters for the day.

Just as my eyelids are becoming heavy, I see it.

"Stop!" I shout. "Stop and take us lower."

The driver obeys helpfully. "Lovely place, this. I don't know what you want with this old pub, though; it's been closed for ages. They're probably going to tear it down and put houses here."

Not if I have anything to do with it! "I want to look around; please wait."

"Well... OK... but isn't that trespassing?"

I shrug. "I am Sherlock Holmes. I think I shall get away with it. Now, just wait here – I doubt that I shall be long."

With my knowledge and experience of forced entry – and the help of my skeleton keys – it is not difficult to gain entry. I turn on the light and satisfy my curiosity.

There is the smell of stale beer in the air, but the building itself is impressive. Dark wood panelling (which does need the attention of a carpenter, here and there), beautiful, high ceilings, original fireplaces... I would keep the bar room, I think, but the restaurant will be split into smaller rooms – a dining room, kitchen and sitting room. Oh! And there is a conservatory! That would make a perfect morning room. Yes, this would be perfect! But I must take a look at the upstairs.

The first floor boasts a bathroom (for paying guests, obviously) and three musty bedrooms. The next floor is simply storage space. This area is much larger than the space below, so I walk the length of it and descend into the section which was obviously used by staff – offices and what I take to be changing rooms above a large kitchen and staffroom. This wing could easily become a second house, which also has access to the bar! But this house would have to be owned by someone whom I can trust. An idea begins to take shape in my mind.

By the time that I feel that I can return to the taxi, I am convinced that this is the perfect house for myself and my family. But the Bell Inn (the name will certainly have to be changed) is indeed to be demolished. Fortunately, I know both the King of England and the Prime Minister. I believe that I also have a favour or two owing. And I shall then get as many friends as I can involved in the remodelling and restoration work.

One thing at a time. I seat myself at the old upright piano, which stands near the bar, and pull out my portable telephone.

"Mrs. Starr, good evening. I wonder... is now a convenient moment?"

Prime Minister Starr smiles pleasantly. "For you, Mr. Holmes, it's never a bad time. What can I do for you?"

I give her my most charming smile and incline my head in a small bow. "I wonder if you might pull a string or two for me... The Olde Bell Inn, on the outskirts of Suffolk (and quite near Cambridge, my map app tells me)... I believe that it is to be demolished. Anyway, the post code is..."

I have done my king and country many a service. Of course, it is not the first time, either. My feats are numerous and my name infamous and has been since the 1880s. Mrs. Starr will see that I am able to purchase the Olde Bell for my own purposes, though she confesses that she knows not why I should want it.

The next step, of course, is to take photographs and contact friends which are in a position to help. I also require floorplans of the building, but Mrs. Starr has already told me from where those can be obtained.

I decide to call up Trevor, first. He knows a vast number of people from his university days and he might just know of a good builder, electrical engineer or plumber.

"Mr. Holmes! This is an unexpected pleasure!"

I smile warmly, remembering that it has been an age since he has last seen me – I have not yet visited him in Norfolk, it now being two months before Beth and I even decided to marry one another.

"Trevor! How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. Did you get the presents I sent you? Did you have a nice Christmas and birthday?"

I want to talk to him about the need for builders, plumbers, electrical engineers, architects and goodness knows what else that I might need, but I am forced to exchange pleasantries first.

"Your presents were just what I needed, thank you. Had you sought the advice of my future wife? Ha! I thought as much. And how was your Christmas and New Year? Splendid! I am glad to hear it."

Eventually, we are able to come to the reason for my call. I am happy to learn that my friend has a neighbour who is a builder – and that he is something of an expert in restoring old buildings. He also knows an electrical engineer personally and went to university with an excellent architect. I am told that the builder – one Mr. Archer – should know at least one reputable plumber.

"Why do you need them?" Trevor asks. "Is it for a case?"

"My dear friend, please tell them that Sherlock Holmes requires their services and that they shall be paid well. Thank you."

That really is as much as I need tell him – for he would be rather confused, I am sure, were I to tell him that I have found a suitable home for my family before my fiancée and I have even decided to be married.


	8. Chapter 8

The Olde Bell Inn is purchased surprisingly quickly – no doubt, a great many strings have been pulled. Work can now begin on the building.

While I draw up plans with the excellent builder which Trevor has recommended to me, we both walk the overgrown beer garden. It is vast! It ends at the river which flows past the old inn and beyond that is a wood. I imagine that many a quiet afternoon might be spent there.

There is room enough for stabling, which I of course cannot resist. I plan to have stables built last, along with a groom's cottage. Mycroft can stay there, on the lead up to the wedding (providing we can have it ready in time, of course).

The house itself is going to be extended on the office side, to become symmetrical. It will in fact be two semi-detached cottages, which each have access to the bar room, in the centre of the downstairs.

There will be a conservatory built to match the one which already exists. They are to face each other across a narrow courtyard, which will contain two shallow water features (with large fountains). Beyond these water features will be a gate, leading to climbing frames and other outdoor amusements.

If I get my way, beyond the play area there will be a swimming bath and rose garden. There most certainly will be a paddock and groom's cottage, however – I have already decided as much. In fact, by the time that Beth is ready to move in with me, I plan to have a groom employed and horses in the stabling. I even know what sort I plan to purchase. This will of course be taken care of by Mycroft, before Watson takes him home, while Beth and I are on our honeymoon.

The plans for the house are practical. Both houses will have a large nursery apiece, with child-size washroom facilities and bedrooms which branch off from the large main room.

Below will be the master bedroom and two smaller rooms. Perhaps these will belong to the children when they outgrow the nursery, but I shall worry about all of that later.

The ground floor will have a family room which leads to the bar room at one end and the hall at the other. From the hall, the dining room and kitchen will be easily accessible. From the kitchen, a door will lead to the conservatory/morning room. I believe that that is all that we are likely to require.

I am looking forward to showing the house to Beth, but I think I would prefer to keep it as a surprise, when we return from our honeymoon (which I also intend to keep as a surprise. Perhaps I could tell her that we are working a case together, as per the chief inspector's instructions... I shall work something out).

"Mr. Holmes," my builder hails me. "We took a look at the old shed, out in the beer garden. Have you looked inside it?"

"No, not yet; why do you ask, Mr. Archer?"

He grins and takes me by the shoulder. "Perhaps you should – you might not want to tear it down. See what you think."

The shed, which I assumed had been used to contain tools for the upkeep of the beer garden, is in fact predominantly an outdoor washroom facility (which might well prove to be useful – especially if we were to install a shower, as well).

The tools and such are kept to the rear, behind a door with a faded sign saying 'STAFF ONLY' still affixed to it. This cupboard houses a cold water tap with hosepipe, two lawnmowers, shears, gloves, handheld spade and garden fork, large garden fork, spade and shovel, flower pots and bags of soil, gravel and sand. It would appear that the beer garden was once kept in excellent repair.

At last, after rather a long two months of camping in the overgrown rear garden of the inn, with Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis parked close by, I am able to show guests around the houses. Naturally, one house is much closer to completion than the other – the side which had been used for staff facilities requires more than restoration and modernisation work and the conservatory is yet to be glazed. However, a quick glance at the (almost) complete side will provide a clear enough indication how the side which still requires major structural work will look.

I want to show this house to Watson, so I get the plumber's apprentice to follow me about and record me, as I give a tour of sorts. This is quickly emailed to my friend of old. I hope that it will interest him, as opposed to simply seeming akin to a long and boring lecture.

"How long do we have?" the lad asks, having assisted me in uploading and sending the video recording. "When's your wedding?"

"We have months, yet," I assure him, without giving the date. It has become my habit to always be frugal with personal information and I do not want all and sundry to know the date of my approaching wedding.

It is approaching teatime (which is invariably at four o'clock of an afternoon) when my Boswell calls me. He has seen the video and is intrigued – why would I want such a large house? What are my plans? What does Beth make of it?

I begin by explaining that I have gone back in time. I then admit that Beth has no idea what I have purchased and that I hope that it will be a welcome surprise. And then I voice the proposition which I have been rehearsing (in my mind) for an absolute age.

"Watson... might the lovely Mrs. Watson be included, in our conversation? What I have to say concerns you both. And the baby."

He snorts. "You have already told me not to name our first son – if it is a boy – after you. Though, why you think that we would want to I cannot fathom."

"It is not about names; it is about the future. I have thought long and hard and I should like to discuss it with you. Might Mrs. Watson like to be a part of such a conversation?"

He frowns at me. "You are going to try to convince us to move back to England. That is why you chose such a vast house."

"I chose the house because I felt that it had character and potential. Frankly, if you want to remain in New York, I shall keep the East Wing for guests."

"Naturally," says he, cocking an eyebrow.

It is the truth, but I am not going to argue about it. "The West Wing is almost fit to live in, now; you could probably move in, within the next week or two."

"Holmes..."

"You could stay here – to try it out, as it were – when you return for the wedding. What do you think?"

"Teresa is expecting, Holmes – she requires rest and quiet; not drilling, hammering and other noise."

Yes, I should have thought of that. "Well... we shall work something out. Anyway... would you please ask your lovely wife to join you?"

It would seem that Teresa is not overly enthusiastic, because it takes him more than ten minutes to convince her to listen to me.

"What is it, Holmes?"

I give her a bright smile. "Teresa, you look positively radiant, my dear. Tell me... would you like to work from home, as a governess? You will be paid handsomely, naturally."

"Huh. Yeah. Meanwhile, you 'n' John'll be off all the time, at random times, and never come home, leaving me 'n' Beth to cope on our own."

No, that will not happen. "Beth and I are going to adopt two young children; part of the agreement will hang on my ability to... to... put my family first. They will be taken away, if I do as you describe – I must change my ways."

I only hope that I can. But it will be much easier for me, with my Boswell's influence. I hope that they will return to Great Britain.


	9. Chapter 9

When the first half of the cottage is complete, I again show it off to the Watsons. The doctor does seem to like it, but again reminds me of the delicate condition of Teresa and her need for rest and quiet. It is indeed a problem, when there is work still going on next door.

"But can you see yourselves living here?" I ask. "Even if you cannot move in immediately, that is what I want to know."

He nods. "Teresa and I have discussed your proposition and – providing we do keep to reasonable working hours –"

"I have no choice in the matter, Watson. I myself must keep to reasonable working hours."

He smiles. "Then I see no reason why it cannot work – and neither can Teresa."

Splendid. That is at least hopeful.

"When do you anticipate the completion of both cottages?" he now asks.

I shake my head. "All that I can say is that we are ahead of schedule and that the contractors involved are working very hard."

"Well... Yes... but, you see, someone there should be able to make an estimate, Holmes."

I decide to bring Mr. Archer into the conversation. He immediately announces that the work on the property shall be completed by mid-May (he is referring to the stables and outdoor washroom facilities, as well as the house).

"When would you say that these cottages will both be completed?" I ask of him.

He scratches his chin. "Well, in another two weeks, all that'll need to be done is the painting and papering, on the admin side; the pub side is just being decorated, now."

"As long as you keep to that schedule, I should be OK," Teresa says. "But much longer and you've got no chance."

"That's fine," Archer assures her. "The setbacks are all behind us, now."

She shrugs, but seems happy enough with this announcement.

"What are the cottages going to be called?" Watson asks. "After all, the 'Olde Bell' is hardly fitting."

"Bluebell Cottage, A and B," I announce, decisively.

Watson considers the proposed name and then nods. "That would be a better name," he agrees.

"I plan to purchase and plant native bluebells in the front, in the shade of crab apple or miniature cherry trees. Rather fitting, I think."

"Well, yes; quite. Perhaps I would call one Apple – or Cherry – Blossom Cottage, but I do like the sound of Bluebell. And how will your clients find you?"

I shrug. "By email, I should think. The idea is that this house will be my family's safe haven – our castle, sans moat and turrets. I plan to continue to work out of Baker Street, but on a nine-to-five basis, from now on."

"That sounds like a very good idea," he has to admit.

I nod. "I shall have to use an alias, here, of course; perhaps even a disguise of some sort – I want to ensure that I bring no part of my work home with me."

Watson nods in turn, becoming pensive. "Of course," says he after a long moment, "we could always employ a team of robots – they could work for John. Perhaps he could even select them himself."

What ever for? "Why do you say that?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Well, protection, of course. We could have some which are awake all night and others which are watchful all the day. And if they were to be fitted with weaponry on their wrists, as John is, I would feel very much happier about leaving our families unattended."

I have to agree with him. "Watson, I thank you. You have always been the voice of common sense. I shall take John to select the best robots to join the household. Is there anything else?"

"There is one thing that you have failed to mention," says he. "You propose that I return to working alongside you, which pays well enough now for us to easily share the fees. Teresa is to be employed – again, with a generous income, to teach your children..."

I nod. "What problem can you see?"

"Well, what about Beth's career? Do you expect her to simply forget about it?"

I never have, yet I certainly have failed to take her career into account. "Supposing..." I begin, holding up a finger, only to stop and lower my hand.

"Why don't I make a suggestion, here?" Teresa interjects. "What if you 'n' Beth work half a day each, every day and keep the weekends free? That way, you still get to be there for the kids and still get to see each other. How 'bout that?"

"Yes..." I nod slowly. "It is worth considering. I shall suggest it to Beth, if it has not crossed her mind already."

I would much prefer to see more of her, however. But, of course, I could always work from home, some days, while Beth is also at home. It is probably high time that I got into the habit of taking holidays, as well. Most importantly, I do need to talk to my lovely wife-to-be. The moment that I return to my own timeline, I shall do so.


	10. Chapter 10

Eventually, the house and grounds are completed and the last of the contractors gone. Thank goodness! We have just over a fortnight before the wedding, now. Thank goodness, as well, that I am able to fetch Watson and his wife over in the blink of an eye, using Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis -- if not, he and Mrs. Watson would most assuredly be forced to remain in America for my wedding.

Watson and I walk the gardens together, admiring the fruits of my labour. The plants are beginning to settle (though I do not expect too much from them, this year) and it is steadily becoming clear to see how I intend for the grounds to look, when the shrubs and trees are more mature.

Personally, I am the most impressed with the meadow turf, which I have had installed along the fence which restricts access to the dangerously near river bank. Already, buds are bursting open in a variety of colours and shapes.

"I am glad that you have a strong fence between the gardens and the river," Watson remarks. "I must confess that it had Teresa and I concerned, when we saw it."

I nod. "The danger was not lost on me," I assure him. "And I understand that it must be safe for two young boys, if we are serious about adopting them."

He chuckles. "Quite so, Holmes."

"There is a gate -- which will be kept locked -- of course. One does need access to the jetty, after all -- Trevor would be most upset, if he had no access to the house by way of Swallows."

He agrees with a nod. "Of course. I see that there is also a stone bridge, which the house also has access to, crossing the river and leading to the trees on the other side."

There is indeed -- a beauty of an old, rustic bridge.

"Yes. I rather like it."

He nods, his expression pensive.

"What is it?"

He shrugs, becoming embarrassed. "I was just thinking… should the bridge also be off limits to the children?"

"Come and see for yourself, Watson. Closer inspection will show you that the bridge is accessed by way of the same gate. The children will never be out here without an adult (or robot, possibly), so the one gate will be safe enough."

"It seems to me that you have thought of everything," says he. "And the location is so beautiful! What does Beth make of it?"

I grin. "Actually, this is my wedding gift to her. She is not going to see it until I bring her back here."

Watson gapes at me. "What if she does not like it? I mean, it is very beautiful, but most new wives like to put their mark on a new property…"

"Which is precisely my reason for keeping the colour schemes neutral," I retort. "She can then decorate in which ever way she pleases."

He shrugs. "Teresa would not be satisfied with that."

Compared with Beth, Teresa is extremely demanding! "Perhaps," I respond tactfully, "but I think I know Beth quite well enough to know what her reaction will be."

"Well, if you say so, Holmes."

I do. I grin confidently and continue to show off. I truly have thought of everything -- from the play area amongst the trees, behind the rose garden, to the shallow pools (legally child-safe) complete with fountains, in the courtyard between the conservatories. I show him the groom's cottage, paddock and stables. I show him the potting shed and outdoor washroom facilities with changing areas (which are likely to be quite useful on particularly foul, muddy days).

Watson admits that my attention to detail is excellent and expresses his admiration frequently, but I suspect that he still feels that I should have included Beth. We shall see. I myself feel assured that my wife will appreciate the nice surprise.

"You must be worn out, old boy," Watson remarks. "This must have taken a lot of work -- three cottages; one practically rebuilt and another built entirely from scratch…"

I nod, confessing that it has indeed been a lot of work. "But that it has all been worth it is undeniable," I hasten to add.

He shakes his head and gazes about us. "It truly is beautiful -- and peaceful -- here, Holmes. Finer than many of the places which I have enjoyed during holidays, as well."

I feel my face light up at the high praise and, with a chuckle, I clap him upon the shoulder.

"Do you think Mycroft will mind staying in the groom's cottage?" I ask.

"I should think not, if it has been built and decorated to the same standard as ours," says he. "But I do still think that Beth should have had some opportunity to work with you, in this project."

"Why? What ever for? You had no say in it."

Watson shakes his head. "You do not understand! We did have a choice, Holmes. We could have decided not to live here, if the house did not suit us. Beth does not even have that choice."

I feel as if a carpet has been swept out from beneath my feet. "Do you think that she will hate it?" I ask, my voice trembling. I had never dreamed that she might feel anything other than delight, upon seeing the house for the first time.

Watson sighs and shakes his head. "I did not say that, Holmes. She might, however, resent not being given the choice."

She most assuredly would not! ...Would she? Well, it is too late now. This is one mistake which cannot be easily remedied with the help of Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis.

"What do you think of the children's play area?" I enquire, changing the subject as deftly as is possible.

"Outlandish," says he. "Really, Holmes! Do they truly require a castle, pirate ship, tree house...?"

I shrug. "The idea is that they will have enough to do in the safest area of the garden to persuade them to keep away from that river."

"You said that they would not be left unattended," he reminds me in a somewhat accusatory tone.

Indeed they would not, but I feel it always helps to eliminate as much temptation as is possible. I tell my friend as much, too. Besides, I happen to know that a young Sherlock Holmes of the boys' age would no doubt have taken an opportunity, when excused, to attempt hopping over that fence in order to explore the woodland beyond the bridge.

"Besides, the tree house is no ordinary tree house. I shall show you what I mean by that, before we return to the house."

The tree house is quite a surprise, as a matter of fact. It has been contacted and built to a very high standard, much like the sort of tree houses that are used as holiday homes by those that go in for it.

Again, I have tried to cater for the boy that I once was -- the boy that liked to climb trees and have adventures doing the sort of things that no responsible parent, guardian or teacher would be expected to allow these days.

"What the deuce have you done, Holmes?" Watson gasps.

I chuckle and rub my hands together. "I have had a tree house built. With sitting, sleeping and hygiene facilities included."

"Is there any heating?"

"Oh! Indeed there is, my boy. We have thought of everything, my planners and I -- the heaters are hidden within these little units and are on a thermostat."

Watson gazes about him in amazement. "This is either genius or madness," says he, laughing. "If this is the standard of your play area, I look forward to seeing the house!"

The house is perfect -- and he says so. Again, my attention to detail quite amazes him and he spends much of his time looking about him in silence, while I show him around. Teresa is quietly resting in their bedroom and we are careful not to disturb her.

Once I am confident that the Watsons are settled and have all that they need, I then rush off into the depths of time and space to kidnap Brother Mycroft. I wonder what he is going to say, when he sees and hears all.


	11. Chapter 11

Mycroft is in the most comfortable chair in his sitting room, sleeping soundly, when I step out of Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis. Were he a smaller man, I would need only to transfer him -- chair and all -- to my mode of transport. As it is...

I clear my throat and his snores abruptly cease while he opens one eye.

"What do you want, Sherlock?"

"I have come to invite you to my wedding, brother mine," I inform him. "Surely, you would not miss it?"

He stands slowly, gazing at me all the while. "How many guests?"

"Much less than there were present at my first funeral service," I return.

"A manageable number?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Quite manageable, to my knowledge, unless my wife has invited guests which I know nothing about."

With a grumble, he retrieves his hat, coat and cane. "I take it I shall have no need for bags?"

I shake my head. "None at all; I have everything arranged for you."

"You are terribly presumptuous," he growls.

"I simply thought that you would be offended if I did not invite you."

"Humph! And where am I to stay, I wonder? Not at Baker Street, I hope."

I say nothing and leave him to wonder. It is not everyday that I am given an opportunity to surprise my brother.

"Where are we?" Mycroft asks, as we step out into the paddock of the groom's cottage. "'Primrose Cottage', indeed! This is not London!" he continues, as I lead him in through the front door.

"Very perceptive of you, brother mine. No, this is indeed not London."

I explain my reasons for purchasing the old inn as I show him around the little cottage. Truly, I hope that he understands (and likes it).

"Incidentally, my cottage is the West wing of the two houses across (what was) the beer garden -- beyond those trees. Here are the keys; this is for the front door, this is for the French windows, this is for the bar room..."

"Bar room?" he repeats, his eyes meeting mine.

"Yes, the bar room," I repeat. "You need not fend for yourself; the bar room will be kept stocked with cold meats, cheeses and such. There will also be ample drinks in there -- alcoholic and soft. Although, I am sure that John would happily cook for you, if you would prefer..."

"I shall see what there is to offer in the bar room and make my decision then," he declares with a dismissive wave of his hand.

I had hoped for rather more enthusiasm, I must say. "Do you not like it here? Let me show you around -- I had this cottage built partly with you in mind, you know. I thought you would prefer staying here to the prospect of staying with some of my friends in London. Was I wrong?"

Mycroft shakes his head. "No, I do not suppose that you were wrong, Sherlock."

Good! Thank God for that.

I show him around his accommodation first, followed by a tour of the grounds and, finally, my own cottage and the bar room. He would appear to be impressed!

"This is all very comfortable," Mycroft says at last. "But, tell me, where am I to stay when I next visit, if the groom's cottage is to be used by a groom, when the stables are occupied?"

I gape at him in no small amount of surprise. "You should like to return and visit again? I little dreamed that you would!"

He looks a little hurt. "I should like to watch your children grow up, you know."

Yes, that should have occurred to me. "Yes, naturally. But perhaps we could go to you..."

"Perhaps, Sherlock, it would rather frighten them. Until they are a little older, I think I should come here."

Already, I have a new problem to solve. With a weary sigh, I rub a hand over my face and then pinch the bridge of my nose. Oh! Wait, I may already have found a solution.

"Mycroft... supposing the groom were not a man but a robot? Much like John -- perhaps I could add cooking and housekeeping to his list of abilities and duties. What do you think?"

He claps a hand upon my shoulder. "I think that might work out very well."

"Perhaps you would like to select one for your cottage?" I suggest. "You could then see for yourself how the process works."

Mycroft gazes about him thoughtfully. "You certainly do not lack funds," he notes.

"Wealthy clients," I respond with a shrug. "They pay as they see fit -- especially if a scandal is averted."

He smirks. "Some things change not at all."

I show him to his room and ensure that the clothes which I have purchased for him are suitable and that nothing has been forgotten. Mycroft confirms that I have thought of everything. Splendid! All I need do now is install the robots and all shall be ready. Hum... I did intend to involve John the robot in that. Perhaps I should go and collect him from the present.

I return to my own time and immediately am refreshed. I had not realised just how weary I had become! Well, I am now perfectly right and there is no harm done.

"John, would you care to come with me?" I ask of the robot. "I should like some help with something."

He perks up excitedly at the words. "For the wedding?"

"Sort of," is my reply. "Would you come with me?"

I would prefer that John knows as little as is possible, as I have already explained to Mycroft. The robot could not keep a secret if his life depended upon it!

Instead of permitting John to see too much, I take him back to thirty minutes after I had left my brother (having agreed to allow him time to freshen up) and park in the centre of Primrose Cottage's sitting room.

John steps out and looks about him. "Where are we?" he enquires.

"This is the accommodation which I have located for Brother Mycroft," I explain. "I have agreed to allow him to assist in choosing the robots that we are to have on our staff within the household."

"Do we even have a house yet?" John asks of me.

I shrug my shoulders. "I may have to go back and search. I expected it to be much easier than it has proven to be."

He frowns. "Really, Holmes! Then why are we selecting robots now?"

"Because it would be a task done. They can keep them stored until we are ready for them, after all."

He frowns at me. "Would you even know how many we need?"

"Two night robots, two day robots and another to act as handyman," I reply.

"Am I unhelpful?" he asks of me, somewhat snappishly.

"Would you not appreciate an extra pair of hands?" I respond, frowning. "Really, John! I am not implying that you are unhelpful, I merely feel that two young boys might prove too much for even your capabilities."

He calms himself and nods. "You could indeed be right."

I nod and pat his shoulder. "I rather thought that I might be, my boy."

Mycroft has heard our voices, for I can hear his tread upon the stairs. Excellent! We shall soon be ready to leave. John volunteers to make a cup of tea first, however, and I decide that I shall make use of the downstairs cloakroom while I have the opportunity. I still dislike being forced to excuse myself in public places.

At last, after what seems an eternity, we scramble aboard Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis and are on our way. If the machine is able to manage the combined weight of John and Mycroft, of course.


	12. Chapter 12

I need not have worried, as it happens. Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis would appear to be capable of managing any load.

We step out into the robotic workshop and Mycroft looks about him at the various displays in quite obvious wonder.

John, on the other hand, is only looking at one display -- a very feminine robot, which comes in a variety of subtle pastel shades. Oh God! Why had it not occurred to me that he was likely to be immediately drawn to this specific style of robot?

I take Mycroft to look at the very latest robot technology. These have no legs and instead have a hovering torso with head and arms. They are fast, lightweight and (like Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis) self-charging, using sunlight to power themselves. They do also come with a charger, which they will use when they decide it to be necessary.

"This is a very good design," Mycroft remarks.

"Up to 10 ability slots can be utilised," I tell him, waving my cane at the specifications. "I plan to select equestrian care duties, cleaning and cooking. Is there anything else?"

My brother nods. "Nanny or governess services and security."

"I did not intend for the groom robot to have much to do with the children."

He chuckles. "They are either going to want to see the horses at least once a day, or be frightened of them and go nowhere near," says he. "If they decide that they like the horses, you might want the robot to be able to interact with them appropriately."

Yes... he does have a point.

John approaches us at this moment. "Oh! I have seen these robots advertised. They are much faster than those of us which walk."

I nod. "I thought that it might be important to have one or two that can move quickly, in case of crisis."

"I move quickly in a moment of crisis, do I not?"

"Of course you do!" I pat his shoulder. "But a better turn of speed amongst your subordinates could only be a good thing -- especially seeing as they are going to have much to learn."

Mycroft is smirking at me. I pierce him with a glare but choose to say nothing -- I would prefer not to upset our robotic friend further.

"You are right, of course," John notes. "Well, I believe I have located a good assistance bot for Beth..."

He leads us back to the feminine robots and points to a very slender one. "A good turn of speed, a gentle, soothing voice, security features optional..."

"Why have you selected this one?" I ask of him.

"Because they are recommended for child care," says he.

Ah, yes, indeed they are. I somehow doubt, however, that this is his only reason. Well, I did say that he could select the robots.

"One of those and one of these?" I ask, indicating another, plumper, feminine-looking bot. She looks (to my mind) rather like the cook that my family had had, while I was growing up. What was her name?

"She looks a little like Mrs. Conway, Sherlock," Mycroft remarks. "Do you remember her?"

I nod. "I do indeed -- I was thinking the same thing."

Mycroft chuckles. "She was our cook, when we were young," he tells John. "She used to permit us to hide in the kitchen on bath nights and sample her cooking."

I smile at the memory.

"Is she to assist me with kitchen duties, then?" John asks.

"Yes, I think so," I reply. She could even cook for the Watsons, so that Teresa can spend more time resting. I cannot imagine that Watson can cook any better now than he could as a bachelor.

John shrugs. "Are we to have any others?"

"Yes -- six big, burly security bots and three butlers."

John stares at me. "Three butlers? Six security bots?"

I nod. "They will have a number of duties, naturally."

"Well, yes... naturally... but three butlers? Will one not do?"

"One shall be a gift. Another shall be at Mycroft's disposal, when he visits."

"And when he does not visit?"

"He shall have other duties. Do not fret so!"

John frowns at me. "I fret, as you call it, because I know that a robot without work will look for other things to do. A robot without work is liable to become a nuisance and cause problems. Unless you mean to give them hobbies? Gardening, sewing... something?"

That could well be a good idea.

It is not long before I have made my purchases and arranged the delivery. I tell John that they shall be delivered to a friend's address and are not likely to be set up until the house is ready. With that, I drop John off at present-day Baker Street and then return with Mycroft to his cottage.

"You lied to him," Mycroft says, the moment the compudroid is gone.

"Hum?" I look up from twiddling (technical term, that) the controls. "Oh, about the delivery of the new robots? Well, John could never keep a secret and this house is my wedding present to Beth."

He raises his eyebrows. "Quite an extravagant gift," says he.

I shrug. "That is my way."

"Yes... I suppose that it is."

Had he appreciated my gifts, I might have been the more inclined to show him affection. As it was... well... we slowly grew apart. I felt that the effort and affection was all on my side and eventually stopped trying, as I recall. I regret that now, but what could I have done?

"You have far better funds than I," Mycroft says, as if that excuses everything.

I shrug. A card would have been enough -- or some kind words -- anything, really. He hardly was expected to purchase a gold mine for me!

"Do I not make enough effort?" he enquires.

I should like to know just how much effort he believes he makes.

"I shall take your silence as answer enough," says he. "Dash it all, Sherlock! If there is anything that you want from me, why do you not say?"

"Perhaps, Mycroft, it is the fact that I have to tell you that always bothered me. I am your brother, for goodness sake! Do you truly not know me?"

"You never voiced any complaint before..."

I shrug again. "I know."

"Well, why should you do so now?"

"Because I have regrets," I tell him honestly. "I regret that we never discussed... anything. I regret that I allowed us to grow distant."

He frowns at me. "We are not distant."

"Well, within five years from your present, I am going to notice that we have been gradually drifting apart. And I blamed you, at the time. With hindsight came the realisation that I could have done something -- I might have said something. Perhaps, by the time you noticed, you knew not what to do. Perhaps you were waiting for me to take some action. I have no idea, because I never spoke a word about it to you."

"Could you not be mistaken? Might you not simply be remembering your past incorrectly?"

"Perhaps." I doubt it. I have a tendency to view my past life through rose-tinted spectacles, if I am inaccurate at all.

My tone must say enough, for his manner tells me that he is troubled.

"I shall be vigilant," says he, after a long moment. "But what should I do, if we do become distant?"

"What would you expect me to do?"

There is another long silence.

"Come and visit me," says he at last. "You know where to find me, Sherlock."

"Would it not be fair for me to expect you to make a similar effort, once in a while?" I ask of him.

He gives a start. "I am a busy man!"

"As am I -- as are my few friends -- yet we do make an occasional effort."

"You have the more energy."

"I also have the more demands upon my time!" I snap back at him. "And the version of me in your own time does not have a means to get time back. Take the initiative, when you notice that our relationship is not the same, because I am going to be world weary by then. I will have been used too much, by too many. I shall leave it much too late, if left to my own devices."

He nods, his lips set in a straight line and his eyes down. "Despite my faults, you choose to spend time with me now."

I sweep a hand through my hair. "I have missed you -- and I have had ample time to realise that the fault is not yours alone. As I say, hindsight always provides a new perspective."

"Thank goodness for hindsight, then."

I can only nod in agreement.

"We are back, by the way -- we have been for almost a quarter of an hour."

"Oh." Without another word, he gets up and goes to the door. Perhaps, like me, he would prefer not to speak again on the subject.


	13. Chapter 13

I stay with Mycroft until the new robots have arrived and been set up. The groom-bot is about to begin making lunch, but I still have much to do and am all nervous energy - I feel no hunger, at present.

With a brief farewell, I hop once more inside Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis and return to Victorian London.

Lestrade is easily located in his office. I knew that he would be here, readying his report before the arrest that will come in the evening, though at a terrible cost. I have deliberately selected his final day on Earth with the intention that he experience happiness with his family once more, before his end comes. I hope that it will count for something.

"Mr. Holmes!" he greets me with enthusiasm, whilst shaking me warmly by the hand. "How are you? You look done!"

"I have been preparing for my wedding," I explain.

"Oh! Yes, I can see why you're tired. Have you come to invite me?"

"I have indeed. And your lovely wife and children, of course."

"The children are not so young, these days," says he. "The youngest -- Eliza -- is eleven and the eldest two are already married, themselves. Jem and his wife are expecting our first grandchild any day."

Yes... How could I have forgotten that detail? At the time, that was one of my many regrets (that he would never know his grandchildren).

In a matter of hours, his family will be shaken to its very core and all I shall be able to do is to repeatedly tell them that I am sorry. That I had not seen the dangers. That I had underestimated the criminal which we were up against, had not realised that the criminal classes were becoming so much bolder -- bold enough to kill a policeman.

Mrs. Lestrade never blamed me, for Watson and I had barely escaped intact, ourselves. Yet... I blamed myself. Perhaps it was for that very reason that his widow could not do the same.

"Is something wrong?"

I shake my head. "Last minute nerves, you understand."

He laughs. "You? Nervous? I don't think I've ever known you to be nervous!"

He has seen me nervous; I simply disguised it quite well. It helps that he never looked for it in me.

"Lestrade, may I take you home to collect your wife and children (and allow you to pack a few things), before bringing you with me to the 22nd Century?"

He considers. "When we return...?"

"It will be as if you never left."

"That's all right then. I mean to make an arrest, tonight."

"Oliver Reid. I know -- I remember."

He grins. "I've been after him for months. Burglary, bank raids... his crimes are getting bigger and bolder and it's a hanging matter, now."

I nod. "I remember the case only too well."

He gives me a queer look. "There's something wrong, isn't there?"

"You know me well," I note.

"I'm your friend -- I've come to know one or two of your ways. Besides, you're easier to read when you're weary."

"When I return you to this time and we are alone. Ask me then," I request, against my better judgement.

He frowns. "So... this is about tonight, then. Not the wedding."

"Not now," I beg of him. "It will keep until the festivities are over with."

"Well, all right. I must say, your manner is making me nervous -- you seem as if the world is about to end!"

"I am weary," I reply, doing my utmost to explain it all away. "And I truly am all nerves."

He grins and claps me upon the shoulder. "I understand. It was the same with me, on my wedding day."

How I dislike lying to him! But what more can I do? I know that I am not meant to tell him anything of the future, nor attempt to change it.

"Well, in that case, we'd best get on," says he. "Where are we staying?"

"Actually... I hope that you will not think me presumptuous, but I was rather hoping that you might stay in our new house, to keep it... well, aired and such. Just until you feel ready to go home. I have reason to believe that your family will enjoy it."

He gives me another queer look. "For how long are we supposed to stay there?"

I shrug. "Only two weeks -- until we go away on our honeymoon."

"Two weeks? Are you sure?"

"Come, Lestrade; all will soon be revealed with time and patience."

He shakes his head as if dismissing a thought. "Oh. Very well, then."

I wind back a bit, so that we arrive at Lestrade's home soon after he has left for work. I see no reason in wasting his valuable time.

Within two hours, the bags are packed and the family ready. The eldest two have been sent for and should be with us at any moment.

"I have a question for you," Mr. Lestrade whispers. "What happens if my grandchild is born while we are in a different time?"

"Well... the hospitals are considerably better," I begin.

He shakes his head impatiently. "Never mind that! What happens when we all return to the present day, eh? Will the child vanish back to the place he -- or she -- came from?"

"That is a good question! I have no idea."

"Can someone find out for us? I don't want my daughter-in-law going through it all twice!"

I promise him that I shall indeed find out and that -- if necessary -- she shall be taken home at once.

"Thank you," says he, clearly relieved.

I touch his arm. "I am thoughtless, in many ways, but not deliberately cruel."

He smiles. "I know you are not, Mr. Holmes."

It means a lot to have that confirmed, but I quickly change the subject to other matters -- wedding plans, the boys we mean to adopt... anything to keep my mind from his looming future.

When I return Bluebell Cottage with my friends, Lestrade decides that he should take a quick look first. However, he takes no convincing -- just the sight of the house is enough to tell him that his family will be comfortable and the mention of a children's play area can only help.

"Do you mean for us to... to... test it, as it were, for you?"

I cannot help but grin widely. "Oh, yes! Yes, please do give me feedback. I designed this house myself, you know."

I help them inside with their bags (or, perhaps I should say that I ask the robots responsible for my half of the house to assist). I then take the children still old enough to enjoy such things out to the play area.

"I feel we should be paying you for the use of such a place," Mr. Lestrade mutters as we watch them enjoy themselves.

I shrug my shoulders. "You are doing me a service," I tell him. "The house is new and will need to be aired a little. Enjoy yourselves -- consider it a family holiday! After the wedding, which is to take place in two weeks time, I shall return you to the moments from whence you left and it will be as if you were never gone in the first place."

He nods. "Our secret."

"Precisely, Lestrade. Are we agreed?"

He shakes his head as he watches his happy children. "How could I refuse? You're very kind, Mr. Holmes."

"Yes, well, we are soon to be family, you know."

I hope that I am not as transparent to him as I am to Watson or Beth, for I would not wish for him to know that at least half of this consideration is borne out of guilt. There is nothing more that I can do, however, to ease my conscience -- this will have to do.

Once I am certain that the Lestrade Family are settled and comfortable in the care of our robots, I leave them and return myself from the moment from whence I had first departed to search for a new house. Now, I shall simply have to keep my secret until the right moment (if I can contain my excitement and nerves long enough).


	14. Chapter 14

I come awake with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed before I am conscious enough to know that I am doing so. What has startled me awake?

A crash of thunder sounds, loud enough to shake the house - clearly, it is a storm which has startled me awake.

I pull on my dressing gown and slide my feet into my slippers as I rise and make my way to the window to pull back one of the curtains.

Beyond the window, all is black as pitch save those brief moments when lightning splits the sky in two. Some bolts are near enough for me to hear the crackle of electricity, before the thunder drowns out all other sound.

I watch the storm until the thunder grows distant and the lightning becomes mere flashes bouncing off of the buildings opposite. Only now do I decide that I should go back to bed and realise that I do not even know what the time is.

I decide to make use of the washroom, splashing some water on my face while I am about it, for the house is hot and sticky in spite of that thunderstorm. There is no Watson to disturb; I may do as I please without the fear of disturbing him.

At last, I make my way back to my bed and cast my watch a glance. It is three o'clock in the morning. In another three hours, I shall have to rise and ready myself for my wedding. In seven, I shall be making my way to the church. This afternoon, I shall have a wife. With any luck, the rain which is still hammering at the windows will have stopped by the time dawn arrives.

I give a little shiver of excitement and close my eyes. Sleep. Difficult as it is, I must sleep or else I shall be good for nothing. It is not as if I can sustain myself with tobacco and cocaine in this lifetime.

When I next awake, John is gently shaking me.

"Come along, old boy," says he. "You would not like to be late for your wedding, I am sure."

I am about to respond when I become aware of a sound which would have been much more welcome on any other day.

"It is raining!" I cry in dismay. "Dash it all! We have had four weeks of relentless heat -- why must it rain today of all days?"

John rests his hand upon my shoulder. "I believe the old saying is: 'Rain before seven, dry before eleven'," he recites. "Fear not, Holmes; it is indeed supposed to dry up long before it is time for photographs. The afternoon is supposed to be quite warm, in fact."

I hope that he is right. Poor Beth!

John gives me a gentle shake. "Well, the weather is in God's hands," says he. "It is my job to see that you get ready quickly. Let me run you a bath."

Watson arrives while I am in the middle of eating breakfast. I have not yet started to dress and am wearing only towels.

"How glad I am that we did not follow the old tradition of going out on the town the night prior," says he. "Dragging myself from my bed is quite difficult enough on a morning such as this."

I can only agree with him. I dread to think what condition even my brain might have been in.

"Is it still raining?" I ask of him.

"Cats and dogs," says he.

I give a dismal groan.

"It rained on the morning of mine, too," Watson recalls. "I recall how upset Mary was about it. But it soon cleared and the sun came out. Do not fret so!"

I nod, remembering the day. "Mary was very beautiful."

He nods in turn. "That she was. Wise as well. Teresa... It is not right to compare them and of course it is natural that Teresa is rather different..."

"Teresa is also wise," I remark. "She does not yet trust me, but have I given her reason to do so? Mary saw the best of me -- I assisted her -- Teresa has not had that... advantage."

Watson chuckles. "There is that, I suppose. Do you mean to say that she is wise not to trust you?"

"She is wise to be wary of my attitude, I feel. My past record is not particularly favourable, is it?"

Watson shuffles his feet. "Well... neither is mine, Holmes. You say that you are selfish, but I could be as bad, if an opportunity for adventure presented itself -- why, I was prepared to leave wife and practice for days or even weeks at a time, for the sake of a case. Longer still, if it was for your sake."

I nod. "Did I ever explain to you why I asked that you accompany me on my little 'holiday', which ended in Switzerland?"

"You wanted my assistance," says he, nodding.

"Yes. Well, that is true enough. However, I also wanted for you to be safe -- had I left you in London, you might have been targeted in order to lure me back. In fact, I do believe that you were, when only Moran was left, but it was Mary that got in the way."

Watson gasps.

"You see, Watson, I could not have protected myself and left you defenceless. Not until Moriarty sent you away so as to attack me alone -- it was then that I felt confident that you would not become caught in the crossfire and could therefore return to your wife."

"Why did you not tell me of your fears?" he demands to know.

"Do you suppose that I had not thought about it -- that I did not want to do so?" I respond tiredly. "You would never have left Mary and we had a lot of ground to cover -- it was no place for a woman."

He nods pensively. "Supposing she had been targeted?"

"She was easier to protect than you if she remained in London, my dear Watson."

"Yes, I suppose she would have been."

I clear my throat awkwardly. "I was truly sorry, you know, about Mary. I should never have considered you to be out of danger -- it was unforgivably stupid of me!"

He touches my arm. "You were in great danger, Holmes. You are not to blame. Besides, it was all so very long ago."

I shake my head. "I shall never forget. To lose a client to negligence is bad enough; to lose a friend..."

"Stop," he orders me. "You cannot carry the weight of every failure -- from two lifetimes -- upon your shoulders. Dash it all, Holmes! Do you suppose that I have never lost a patient? Do you suppose that there was never nothing that I could do?"

I shrug.

"You should hurry up and get ready, old man," Watson reminds me.

He is right, of course. I finish my breakfast and then go in search of my suit (specially designed for the occasion and made to match Beth's chosen colour scheme).

By the time the car is due to arrive, I am ready and fiddling with the brim of my new top hat whilst pacing the length and breadth of the sitting room in a state of severe agitation.

"Holmes, please," Watson takes my arm as I attempt to sweep past him. "Do sit down; you are making John and I dizzy!"

I attempt to brush him off. "The car should be here by now!"

"There is still time," John attempts to reassure me.

I snarl impatiently and point at the window. "It is still tipping down, out there! Just look at it!"

"Have a sip of brandy," John suggests. "It will... keep the cold out."

I suspect that he was going to say that it would soothe my frayed nerves. He would indeed by right.

Watson pours a measure for me and I drink it. I must admit that it does indeed help.

There is a quick beep from outside and John hastens to the window. "Your carriage awaits," says he with an ironic tone. "Do you have everything, gentlemen? The ring? Your gloves? Very well, then; be off with you. I shall follow in the car, Holmes. Oh! Here -- I purchased these umbrellas; I almost forgot."

He hands us each a rather expensive umbrella which look as if they were made from the same fabric as my suit. I thank him hurriedly and then rush out to the car beneath the protective canopy with Watson close at my heels.

"Sorry about the weather, gents," our driver says as we strap ourselves in. "Still, it's meant to clear up beautiful later. Here we go!"

And with that, we are off.


End file.
